Reformation Day Writing Contest

[Cretanja]

December 10th is one of our four regional holidays; Reformation Day is dedicated to commemorating the Osiris Reformation Period and serves to celebrate the founding of the Osiris Fraternal Order! Osiris is a land filled with gifted, talented, and intelligent folks, so I can think of no better way to honour our roots than with a huge ol’ Writing Contest!

Each participant may submit up to three (3) short stories, each relating to one of the three available prompts provided by our Hasal-Pharaoh trio of CoKoVe! Put as much effort into your submission(s) as you so choose; the key is to have fun! The contest will run from December 1st to December 10th. A winner will shortly after be announced! Good luck, everyone!

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Cormac’s Prompt:
You moved into a new house just a few weeks ago, and so far everything has been great - except you keep hearing scratching sounds coming from the attic, which the realtor said was little more than a crawlspace. You mention this to friends at a get together at your house, and they dare you to go into the crawlspace to investigate. You can't turn down a dare, so you go. The first thing you notice as you're crawling along is there is a soft, flickering light at the end, which seems odd to you, but you assume it's coming from elsewhere in the house through a crack. But when you get to the end the crawlspace leads to a room, lit by a single candle, and a red door adorned with silver and gold, and oddly, a door knocker. You don't know why, but instead of simply opening the door, you use the knocker...

Koth’s Prompt:
Your doorbell rings and you go to answer the door. Standing on the other side is a tall, well-dressed gentleman who claims to be a long-lost cousin in search of information about his family, and asks if you could invite him in for a quick chat. When you do, he walks over to your couch and plops down. He says that he is a vampire, and now that you invited him in he's going to be your new roommate, and if you don't like it he'll simply use you as a thrall.

Venico’s Prompt:
It is about midday amongst a bustling town square as merchants and patrons haggle amongst themselves. Ruffians hang about in the nearest alleyway throwing dice between each other, with a grumble as money moves from one person to the other. You step into a shop you haven't noticed before, it is filled with antiques and the faint smell of mystique in the air. The Shopkeep looks up from behind a dusty pair of spectacles where he is sat on a decrepit stool. "Ahhh, I've been waiting for you..."

[Bendicion]

Prompt 3

“I almost thought I was in another shop, old man”, Ben told the shopkeeper. “Almost mistook the shop for the antique one I delivered some packages for you the other day with all the dust lying about”.

“Enough of that kid, I got here an offer for you”, the shopkeeper pulled out a book from below his drawer. “Its not the typical job that I give you”, the shopkeeper continued as he flipped through the pages of the book. Ben could spot some numbers and crossed out names as the shopkeeper went through each page. “Hmm, I swear it was here”, the shopkeeper said as he reached the end of the book.

“Maybe that paper near the lamp?”, Ben pointed at a pile of paper stacked with some goblets by a lamp. “You might have forgot to stuck it in your book after you read it”.

“Pharoah’s ass, I might have indeed forgotten”, the shopkeeper stood from his stool and walked towards the stack of paper. “Let’s see…”, he began to check each paper. “Aha! Here it is”, the shopkeeper beamed as he took a single paper and held it towards Ben.

“You said a different one right?”, Ben asked with some tension in his voice. He slowly read what was written on the paper. A gulp in between.

“Yeah, you think you can do it?”, the shopkeeper asked as he sat back down on his stool and raised his spectacles towards Ben. “It seems like the best place. You can earn a lot of money”.

“Ah, almost forgot”, the shopkeeper remarked, before opening another nearby drawer and pulling out a brown envelope. “Also here’s a letter from your sister. Finally arrived just about a few hours ago”.

Ben took the envelope and teared it open. Inside was a bundle of letters, each with different dates written on them. “Took a while longer than I hoped?”, Ben leered at the shopkeeper.

“You got it right? Thats what matters”. The shopkeeper snapped back. “Getting those letters aint free”. The shopkeeper continued. “Now will you do it or not?”

Ben looked at the envelope full of letters from his sister before reading the paper the shopkeeper gave him. “Yeah. I can do it. Might take a while”. Ben replied. “Only one question”. Ben paused as he reread the last lines of the paper.

“What?”, the Shopkeeper asked as he placed his spectacles ever nearer to his eyes, expecting of sorts.

“Any idea of the quickest route to this ‘Brotherhood’ the letter keeps talking about?”

[Cretanja]

Promt 2
Your doorbell rings and you go to answer the door. Standing on the other side is a tall, well-dressed gentleman who claims to be a long-lost cousin in search of information about his family, and asks if you could invite him in for a quick chat. When you do, he walks over to your couch and plops down. He says that he is a vampire, and now that you invited him in he's going to be your new roommate, and if you don't like it he'll simply use you as a thrall.

Rubbing the side of this face where he was having a massive toothache, "Listen here, you have no right to be making demands in this house, Mr. Tall Dark with Fangs! Besides, do you see any coffins around here? That is what you sleep in, of course, isn't it? And besides, of all the folks' houses to choose, why mine?" Mr. Tenebrys said to the stranger sitting on his newly bought couch with his feet propped up on his coffee table. "And put your feet down! I had that table imported from India, thank you very much!"

The stranger smiled and looked up at Mr. Tenebrys with a gleam in his eye. In an elegant yet firm voice he says, "Calm down. You're gonna find out soon enough why all this doesn't matter and you'll be more than happy to forget all about your precious imported coffee table." The stranger stands up and walks towards Mr. Tenebrys taking three long strides, almost gliding across the floor. "I am Sovatje Malicasious Gordonija Tenebrys. You can call me Sovatje. What I said was true. I am your long-lost cousin. That is, I was lost, to you. We have always known about you. And I am in fact a vampire. Funny thing though, so are you.... kinda."

Mr. Tenebrys was shocked, and even though the words stunned him, he laughed none-the-less. "What do you mean? I'm not a vampire! I feel like I would know that, don't you? I wake up in the mornings craving a bagel with creame cheese, not blood. I go to work as a dental assistant, not a blood bank. I sleep in a soft body conforming bed, not a coffin. I'm not a vampire, and I'm starting to think neither are you. Now get out of my house!"

Sovatje smiled, again. His eyes now flowing red with his hand outstretch towards Mr. Tenebrys. "Listen. Take a seat."
Mr. Tenebrys seat himself on the couch never taking his eyes off of Sovatje.
"Now, you're going to listen to what I have to say without inturption."
Mr. Tenebrys nodded.

"You descend from the Tenebrys Coven. You were told your mother and father were killed in a house fire; this was a lie. A necessary lie, but a lie none-the-less. Your mother was Ora Niandrija Tenebrys. The coven did not get to her in time before she transition, and she killed your father. Luckily, we were able to keep her from harming you. Unlike what you and popular media think, Vampires do not sleep in coffins and do not turn folks by biting them - we sleep in beds, and do more than bite if left unchecked; we kill. Vampirism is hereditary, and on your 30th birthday you will begin your transition into vampirhood. Humans got lucky and only have one puberty. Any life that you have made as a human must be abandoned because humans and vampires do not mix for good reasons." Sovatje looks around the room. "It looks like you've remained single with no kids. Fortunate in the regard that you might be able to transition without hurting anyone, unfortunate that the family line ends with you."

Mr. Tenebrys snaps out of the trance. "Wait. I'm... a vampire? My birthday is tomorrow!
A sudden sharp pain returns to his face where his tooth ache pulses with ache.

"Yep. Your birthday is tomorrow. Which is why you're already growing in your fangs." Sovatje says with a huge smile deliberately exposing his elongated teeth.

Mr. Tenebrys gasps. He reaches from the hand mirror in the coffee table's drawer and hold it up to his face where there it is... the start of a sharp pointy tooth protruding from his gums. He looks up to Sovatje with fear in his eyes...

Sovatje says, "Allow me to officially welcome you to the family." Holding up a bloodbag he fetched from his pocket.

[Malphe]

Prompt:
You moved into a new house just a few weeks ago, and so far everything has been great - except you keep hearing scratching sounds coming from the attic, which the realtor said was little more than a crawlspace. You mention this to friends at a get together at your house, and they dare you to go into the crawlspace to investigate. You can't turn down a dare, so you go. The first thing you notice as you're crawling along is there is a soft, flickering light at the end, which seems odd to you, but you assume it's coming from elsewhere in the house through a crack. But when you get to the end the crawlspace leads to a room, lit by a single candle, and a red door adorned with silver and gold, and oddly, a door knocker. You don't know why, but instead of simply opening the door, you use the knocker...

---

The door abruptly swings open to reveal, at eye level, distinctly nobody at all. Behind the door is distinctly more than there should be, and distinctly nothing euclidean.

You see a hearth, a table, and a loaf of bread. Your eyes attempt and fail to readjust to the new scale before coming to the awkward conclusion that all three are a third the size they should be. The hearth is burning twigs, not logs, and by the loaf is a breadknife no more than three inches long.

It is only now that you notice you are not alone. There is a small and graven man at your feet who is no more than 2 feet tall, with no more than seventy wrinkles on his brow and quite a lot more than a passing resemblance to a gnome. His tangled beard extends to twice the length of his body and appears to have been dragging dust and lint from the floor for a very long time.

This man proceeds to explain in less than entirely unintelligible English that your family has missed no fewer than fifty thousand three hundred and ten weekly offerings of porridge to their deified progenitor, that they have failed to maintain suitable amenities for their deified progenitor, and that he expects payment in full for a bountiful crop in time for Lammas day. You don't know what Lammas day is so you worry he's a little behind the times. You're also not a farmer.

Contrary to your strained explanations, the old man refuses to budge. Upon the door being shut in your face you figure that oatmeal is actually rather cheap, how much can fifty thousand three hundred and ten bowls of oatmeal be?

Two hundred thousand euros worth of oatmeal later you discover that, in the absence of crops, the household spirit's blessing simply swells the weeds in your garden to a ridiculous size. After seven days living off comically large dandelion leaves you decide this wasn't at all worth it.

[Tethys 13]

“Erm… c-could you repeat that?” Gwenwyn stammered, her spectacles slipping down her long nose as she began to shiver.
“Which part, belle?” replied the stranger who had deceived his way into her home, his voice a lazy drawl. He ran a silk-gloved hand through his long dark hair, before idly swatting a strand from his maroon velvet dinner jacket. “That I shall be living here from now on? That you shall serve me and cater to my every whim? Or,” and at this point his face pulled into a smirk too wide for human features, revealing a prominent canine fang, “that I am a vampire?”
“No no no, this can’t be happening,” Gwenwyn stuttered. “P-please, just leave. I w-won’t do anything, I won’t tell anyone, just leave. Please.”
“Now now belle, is that really the way to treat a guest? Let alone a new lodger. My real name is Drawde, by the way. Lord Drawde, technically, but who am I to stand on ceremony with my gracious host? Now, if you choose not to be gracious, I may have to… enforce the respect due to my station.” Every word was laced with not just threat, but desire, a longing to be given any reason to carry those threats out. The laden silence that followed was broken by the whistle of a kettle, and Gwenwyn remembered the tea she had been preparing for her ‘cousin’. She hurried to the kitchen, her shaking hands spilling some of the boiling water as she attempted to move it into the teapot. She caught her reflection in the kitchen mirror, her shoulder-length bob of lilac hair without a strand out of place, even as the rest of her looked to be undergoing a nervous breakdown. She jumped as she felt a presence behind her, while the mirror remained empty of anyone but her.
“Please don’t touch me,” she whispered. The response by her ear was a laugh.
“Careful, belle. Look, you’ve scalded your hands terribly.” A gloved hand reached down towards hers, and she hurriedly moved away, turning to face him. He loomed over her, half a metre taller than her small frame. “Admit it,” he continued. “You’ve been alone so long, part of you hoped for something like this. That ‘cousin’ line was as weak as can be. We certainly look absolutely nothing alike, yet you welcomed me as if we had grown up together.”
“I have not seen my cousins in a while, is all,” she replied, but he was not listening, instead inspecting the teapot. He sniffed exaggeratedly, then sneered.
“I am going to have to decline this… beverage, I am afraid,” he said. “No insult to your entertaining brewing methods, but I prefer a different blend to hot leaf juice and expired bovine lactation.” At this, he smiled hungrily again, and took a step towards her.
“I have conditions!” she gasped. “You can stay here, until you choose to leave, but I have conditions.” He raised a condescending eyebrow.
“Do go on.”
“I’ll let you live here, I’ll clean up after you, I’ll find you food, but you can’t attack anyone, and you can’t touch me. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“How magnanimous of you.” He turned away, opening the door to her bedroom, failing to hide his distaste at the dust kicked up by the door’s movement. “Oh, how dreary,” he exclaimed. “Yes, there must be changes here.”
“D-do you accept?” she asked, but he ignored her again. Instead, a picture frame came spinning through the doorway and smashed the mirror behind her head.
“Starting with that, oh move on. What was his name?” he called. She knelt and lifted the picture, showing a lilac-haired woman and a smiling broad-bellied man. “Well?” he demanded after a moment, when she had not replied.
“Ronald- Renaud, it was Renaud.” She quavered.
“Forgetting him already? Perhaps you are moving on,” Drawde chuckled. “Well, this bed is fine enough, even if the sheets need washing and beating. You can do that for me, can’t you belle?”
“I-if you accept,” she tried again.
“You grow tiresome, belle. By all that is unholy, this place reeks. Forget cleaning the bed, this carpet is a mess. Do something about it immediately – I may not need to sleep, but I can think of plenty of other uses for this room, oh yes.” It took her several minutes of panicked searching to find the vacuum cleaner, Drawde’s impatient derision growing second by second.
“Found it,” she said at last.
“Finally. Did you treat Renaud like this, belle? It is a wonder he did not leave you sooner.”
“Do you accept my conditions?” she responded as she stepped into the murky bedroom, facing him but keeping her distance, vacuum cleaner in hand. His eyes narrowed, as he held up a piece of paper apparently found from a file on the desk.
“Really? No rise to that, Miss Moulin? Or do you still go by Mrs Badeau, as it says on your letterbox? Alliterative names are certainly more appealing, if, in this case, rather pathetic. Yet you do not seem perturbed at all by my mocking of your – according to this letter – late husband. Normally I would pass that off as mere weakness in my overwhelming presence, yet you continue to witter something about ‘conditions’. What were they, again?”
“I’ll let you stay, if you don’t touch…” she began, but then he moved, quicker than sight, quicker than anything human-shaped had a right to move, seizing and effortlessly crushing her left wrist in one iron grip as the other hand pulled back her head, elongated nails breaking her glasses and plunging deep into her scalp as he exposed her neck and opened his mouth impossibly wide, before sinking his extended fangs into the flesh. They sank in effortlessly. Too effortlessly. His jaws almost closed, but were gummed open. He tried to pull away, but his hands were each trapped. Instead of sweet, nourishing blood, the substance that poured into him burned like acid, his obstructed lungs dissolving before they could allow him to scream. As agony wracked through him, and the last moments of his unlife bled away, his fading gaze met the empty eyes of the creature that had taken the form of Belle Badeau, the creature Gwenwyn, as they peered from its liquifying, translucent face.

Several minutes later, there was another knock at the door. Gwenwyn opened it, smiling through Belle Badeau’s features, all back where they should be, though it had yet to find replacement spectacles for the ones that had broken. Her neighbour, Marjolaine Martin, smiled nervously.
“Ah, Belle, is everything all right? I heard an awful ruckus earlier.”
“Quite alright, Marjolaine, I just knocked over a dresser. Thank you for your concern.”
“Of course of course,” Marjolaine replied, and Gwenwyn began to close the door. “Is your cousin still there?” the woman suddenly added, and Gwenwyn froze.
“Oh, you saw him?” it said.
“Ooh yes, very scary looking chap indeed. I was just getting home with my shopping when he knocked at your door.”
“He may look scary, but he’s really just a treat.” Gwenwyn’s smile broadened. This hiding spot was probably on the way out anyway, and it was always best to stock up before a long journey. “You really should come in and meet him.”

[Cretanja]

Thank you to everyone who made a submission! These are some really great reads! As such, each are winners in my eyes! Congratulations, friends!